Dreams poems

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Second Sunday In Advent

© John Keble

Not till the freezing blast is still,

Till freely leaps the sparkling rill,

The Fourth Of August

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Now in thy splendour go before us.
Spirit of England, ardent-eyed,
Enkindle this dear earth that bore us
In the hour of peril purified.

The Kind Ghosts

© Wilfred Owen

She sleeps on soft, last breaths; but no ghost looms
Out of the stillness of her palace wall,
Her wall of boys on boys and dooms on dooms.

Leichhardt

© Henry Kendall

LORDLY harp, by lordly master wakened from majestic sleep,

Yet shall speak and yet shall sing the words which make the fathers weep!

Ballade of Summer's Sleep

© Archibald Lampman

Till the slayer be slain and the spring displace
The might of his arms with her rose-crowned bands,
Let her heart not gather a dream that is base:
Shadow her head with your golden hands.

Buried in childhoods cloudless dreams, a fair-haired nursling lay,
A soft smile hovered round the lips as if still oped to pray;
And then a vision came to him, of beauty, strange and mild,
Such as may only fill the dreams of a pure sinless child.

Songs of the Spring Nights

© George MacDonald

The flush of green that dyed the day
Hath vanished in the moon;
Flower-scents float stronger out, and play
An unborn, coming tune.

Sonnet XXVI: I Lived With Visions

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I lived with visions for my company

Instead of men and women, years ago,

Disillusioned

© Corinna

People holding hands, daring to love,
children playing, no one left out,
believing in a God, high above,
no reasons given to cry out loud.

To Edward Dowden: On Receiving From Him A Copy Of "The Life Of Shelley"

© William Watson

First, ere I slake my hunger, let me thank

The giver of the feast. For feast it is,

Isabella; Or, The Pot Of Basil: A Story From Boccaccio

© John Keats

I.

Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!

The Higher Brotherhood

© Madison Julius Cawein

To come in touch with mysteries
Of beauty idealizing Earth,
Go seek the hills, grown old with trees,
The old hills wise with death and birth.

Fragment

I.

TUSCARA! thou art lovely now,

Jump-To-Glory Jane

A revelation came on Jane,
The widow of a labouring swain:
And first her body trembled sharp,
Then all the woman was a harp
With winds along the strings; she heard,
Though there was neither tone nor word.

Snow in Europe

Out of their slumber Europeans spun
Dense dreams: appeasements, miracle, glimpsed flash
Of a new golden era; but could not restrain
The vertical white weight that fell last night
And made their continent a blank.